LXXIV. MATTEO ROMANO (POV)

ā€œChe vuoi?ā€ the old man asks what I want with disdain, his voice dry as he studies my face, shoulders, hands, and tattoos—and his brow furrows even more.

ā€œCigarettes.ā€ I cross my arms and straighten my posture.

ā€œDo I look like a store?ā€ His eyes drop to the beers, then lift again.

ā€œDo you sell t...

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